


that one with enchanted goldfish

by agathons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sweats nervously, fish!greg, i thought it's a thing, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agathons/pseuds/agathons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crazy prompt by Annie, written for lovley Luiza for her birthday last week.</p><p>Mycroft gets a goldfish, because his father thinks he's lonley. Who would thought that the fish is lonley too and in addition, in night turns into hot teenage boy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	that one with enchanted goldfish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGov/gifts).



"You need a friend." Father Holmes said, and Mycroft rolled his eyes obnoxiously. 

"I assure you, I don’t." he replied, calling not-so-true smile on his lips. "I’m perfectly fine with having no acquaintances amongs my equals."

Father Holmes laughed. "I know that," he nodded, "and I accept that." 

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as he glanced over. His father was always very affectionate and young Holmes knew that, but it was still awkward. Is he supposed to say something nice in return? Is he supposed to smile or…?

"I was thinking about something like, um … a pet." Mycroft tilted his head up. "A pet?" he stressed. "Father, I am not a toddler..."

"Oh, come on, Myc" father Holmes cut off, and Mycroft felt how the tips of his ears started to burn. 

"This is not my name." he gritted through his teeth. 

The car stopped on the car park in front of pet store. Mycroft was bewildered. He stepped out of the car, it was pouring, and he was wearing new Oxford shoes. 

Goodness Grace, they’ll get dirty.

"You can’t be serious, father."

"I can, because I am." he grinned mischievously. They stepped inside.

The shop was small, an old lady with silver hair waved her hand in hello. Father Holmes waved back, and Mycroft blushed heavily.

"Father, please..." he said, irritated.

"What are you looking for, my dears?" the woman approached them, way too fast for her age. 

"I am looking for a pet for my son." Father Holmes motioned to Mycroft. 

The woman with darting eyes looked at the embarassed boy. She smiled and led him towards the fish alley. 

* 

"That was the worst idea, father." Mycroft said, clutching a jar filled with water, home for an amber goldfish. "The worst idea ever." he stressed. His father shrugged.  
"Come on, Myc, it’s just a goldfish."

"That lady was really enthusiastic about us getting this goldfish." pointed out Mycroft. "She was licking her lips all the time, nervous laughter and stroking herself as if..." 

"Yes, I believe you." his father cut off, and they walked over to the hall, flooded with light. 

Readbeard, who was by Sherlock’s side in the living room, tilted his head up, straining his ears. 

"Good morning, mother." Mycroft said, not bothering to come over to the living room. He already knew what would happen there - father would start to boast about his idea (Mycroft was certain it was mother’s. Come on.), mother would keep smiling at his ‘little Myc and his goldfish’ and would probably rejoice, by informing everyone that he is (oh, horror!) _cute_. And Sherlock would try to be sarcastic, as always. 

Mycroft sneaked to his room and placed the jar on his desk. He turned to light the small lamp near his bed, and started to undress - his back was hurting after a long day at school. He untied his tie, left jacket on a hanger and headed to the bathroom. When he came back, he found water glass, in the shape of a sphere, placed next to the jar with the goldfish, which was nervously swimming round and round. He smirked and tapped the jar. 

He placed the goldfish in the water glass and sat down to study. 

*

He was woken up by the sound of breaking glass.

He shifted nervously, straining his ears. Maybe Redbeard broke something? Maybe Sherlock was making one of his night experiments? Maybe it was a murderer who wanted to kill his whole family? He gulped and whiped off his brow. No, obviously no, it’s illogical. 

Mycroft sat down and then he felt a freezing finger of fear, stroking his back. 

Someone was in his room. 

Looking right at him.

Standing by his bed.

Mycroft stood up qickly, picking up a lamp. He swung the lamp toward the stranger and immidately slipped, landing on his butt. 

"Oh my God, I am terribly sorry," the stranger spoke, offering Mycroft his hand. Holmes realised the floor was strangerly wet, it surely wasn’t before … 

"Who are you?" Mycroft’s voice was cold and harsh, like a solider’s. "What are you doing in my bedroom late at night?"

Stranger laughed. 

"I’m Greg and this sentence was perfect." he replied, voice soft and nice. 

Mycroft blinked in suprise. "For Christ’s sake!" he got up and lighted up the room. 

Greg was wet and naked.

Mycroft’s face turned so red that even his freckles were covered with blush. The stranger was grinning, his face emanating with happines. "What?" he asked, shrugging. Mycroft looked down, suddenly feeling a knob in his throat. "Could you possibly put some pants on?" he tried to sound calm, but the sound that came out from his throat was more hoarse than calm.

"Oh." Greg looked down, rubbing his belly in consternation. "I don’t have anything to wear."

Mycroft sighed deeply and motioned to his dressing gown, hanging from the doorframe. Greg thanked him, putting the piece of clothing on. Meanwhile, Mycroft got up and inspected the crime scene. There was no sight of the jar, nor the water glass. The floor was wet and there was broken glass everywhere. He couldn’t find the goldfish. He looked at Greg, then at the glass, then back to Greg. 

When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be truth.

But that was too improbable.

Mycroft cleared his throat. 

"Are you my goldfish?" he asked, realising how ridiculously that sounded.

"Your goldfish?" Greg approached. "I don’t remember the fact when you owned me." his voice lowered. 

Mycroft gulped. "Stop being vulgar, Gregory."

"I’m not vulgar, I’m just a fish." he shrugged. 

"Is there any logical explanation to this situation?" Mycroft said, silvery. He was glad of his cold blood, he had the situation under control. It was just a dream.

"No." Greg shrugged again, still smiling cheerfully, smile making his cheeks wobble (in a cute way - Mycroft thought, but scolded himself after - that disgusting word mother used).

"So it must be a dream." Mycroft stated, and Greg put his hands into pockets. 

"Is it your dream or mine?" his eyes turned smokey, and so did his voice. "Don’t flatter yourself."

"So who are you?" Mycroft suddenly felt weak. Greg shrugged.

"Dunno. An enchanted prince maybe?" he grinned, and walked closer to Mycroft. Other boy gulped nevously, blushing. "You know what they say about enchanted princes?"

"I a-am not ...very well-informed in that source.." Holmes stammered, feeling Greg’s breath on his face.

"Only a true love’s kiss..." Greg shifted his head and their lips crashed. Mycroft’s hands moved up, but the stranger broke the kiss, smiling overjoyed. 

"Um, never kissed anyone, you?" he asked, walking towards Holmes’ bed. Mycroft stammered something in answer, trying to calm his mind. Greg jumped in the bed, tucking up in his fresh bed sheets. 

"So that bitch-witch told me only love’s kiss will break the curse..." he mumbled, from under the sheets. "I think it worked, so I’ll sleep here."

Mycroft licked his lips. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

"You think too much, darling." Greg’s head slid out from under the bed sheet. "Come on, I’ll let you be in my dreams."


End file.
